


Don't Wait Up For Us

by lonelywalker



Category: Brothers & Sisters
Genre: Jossed, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-18
Updated: 2011-04-18
Packaged: 2017-10-18 08:09:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/186777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonelywalker/pseuds/lonelywalker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>5 times Saul Holden didn't go to sleep in his own bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Wait Up For Us

1.

Saul's never gone to bed slick with another man's sweat before.

He hadn't meant to fall asleep at all. Driving over to Henry's apartment, bearing a bottle or two of Ojai's finest wine and a barrel full of hopes, he'd assumed that he'd be returning home alone, even if the evening did go as well as his wildest dreams might imagine.

They'd sat on Henry's couch, surrounded by books, and listened to a symphony while sipping wine. Romantic interests aside, Saul hasn't found anyone to share even those simple pleasures with in years, and perhaps it's only because he's so relaxed and content that he doesn't flinch when Henry's arm goes around him.

Henry's _warm_ , he realizes, moving closer. He'd always expected that being with a man would be cold and hard in comparison to letting himself sink into a woman's embrace. Men would be bones and stubble and aggression. But Henry, slim as he may be, is perfectly comfortable to lean against, his fingers gentle on Saul's cheek, and his lips soft for their first kiss.

And that should be enough.

They're both old men. They know all too well about gray hairs and sore knees and popping prostate medication daily. This should be a relationship built on socializing: having someone to take to dinner, to escort him to the opera, to talk to late in the evenings. Perhaps even someone to hold and to kiss, to give him simple comfort and warmth. This shouldn't be about _need_ , and certainly not the raw, earnest, _desperate_ need that's snaking downwards from his belly, leaving a warm ache in its path that just can't be ignored.

He doesn't know what he wants when he kisses Henry back, his hands smoothing down Henry's shirt and feeling the shape of him, finding buttons he wants to rip from their holes. He doesn't know how to articulate it at all. In the last few months he's read everything he could about homosexual love from anatomical diagrams to advice columns. He knows all the terminology, all the slang. But he can't say it. Can't process any of it now, except for the feel of Henry's skin burning and naked under his fingers, and the realization that, for the first time in longer than he'd care to admit, he's getting hard without even being touched.

"Henry," he says, his mouth suddenly dry, and he smiles just a little at the thought that he'd never really liked that name before now. He'd certainly never thought about it as something he might whisper over and over, might cry out in bed loudly enough to make the neighbors envious. "God, Henry..."

The symphony is playing out its final notes, and Saul can taste the wine in the air between them.

He's happy to let Henry take control, even if he is a little afraid of just what Henry might want. No matter how many articles he's read on how good being penetrated can feel, it still blends in his mind with the pain and embarrassment of rectal exams, the humiliation of being made someone's 'bitch', and the anxiety that he simply won't be any good. This is his very first boyfriend. The first man he's ever kissed. And, while Saul is under no illusions that this relationship will be 'the one', he'd prefer that they at least manage to have dates lasting into the double digits.

Henry's bedroom is reassuringly cozy and warm and normal. There's no bondage gear lying around in plain view, and when Saul sits down on the edge of the bed, with its crumpled sheets speaking of bachelorhood, the book he finds next to him is a dog-eared Dostoyevsky.

"You really should treat your books better," Saul points out, just as Henry kisses him again and starts to unbutton his shirt.

Nervous as he may be, that feeling of warm fingers brushing against his skin, that eagerness in Henry's kiss... his arousal is beginning to overtake his anxiety. He wants Henry to touch him more, wants to feel _Henry_ naked, needs to know how much Henry really wants him.

Henry's far too beautiful with his clothes off, peeling Saul's from his body one layer at a time, kissing him constantly, first on the mouth, then on his body as pale skin is revealed inch by inch. Henry's long and lean and muscular and gorgeous and so, so very out of Saul's league. He should have some young, sweet lover, one of Scotty's friends he could mentor and teach and enjoy...

But Saul can feel Henry's erection stiff against his thigh as they fall back onto the mattress together, and his own need is just as evident. Henry might be crazy to want him, but it's obvious, at least, that he _does_.

He finds himself moaning as Henry kisses his throat, his hands exploring Henry's back, moving down to feel that tight butt as Henry wriggles out of his jeans.

"That's... good," Saul says, wincing as he says it. He sounds so very awkward. With women he'd been able to relax. With Henry, it just _matters_ too much to...

"Relax," Henry says softly, smiling and sitting back a little, tugging on Saul's pants until Saul gets the hint and lifts his hips, letting them slide off. "Am I going too quickly?"

He's in his sixties, not his teens. That question should be ridiculous. But he's in another man's bedroom in his underwear, just as desperate to feel Henry's body as he is for Henry to touch his, but without any idea of what to do.

His fingers touch Henry's shoulder, stroke up to the stubble of his beard, and drag him in again. "You're wonderful," he says in Henry's ear, low and sincere. "I want to make you feel good."

"Mmmm..."

A minute later, Henry's switched off the light and they're under the covers together, two warm bodies, utterly naked, feeling and exploring and needing. Somehow Saul can't bring himself to worry about Henry's hands and mouth finding evidence of wrinkles or a few extra pounds when he can drag a fingernail over a nipple and feel Henry's hips jerk in response, his cock burning hot against Saul's belly.

And... _God_. Henry's _mouth_. That gorgeous, gorgeous mouth Saul has grown to love over the past few days for its intelligent discourse, cutting quips, and genuine smile. Henry slips down his body and takes him whole without warning, his hands a cool pressure on Saul's hips as they thrust up in an unconscious, primal rhythm.

Saul's fingers go to Henry's head, tangling up with glossy dark hair, and he has to forcibly stop himself from pushing down, from fucking Henry's mouth with all the abandon his body is beginning to demand. "I... God, Henry..." All of their eloquent conversation from earlier in the night has been abandoned. There's just Henry's wonderful tongue on him, and Saul's stuttered breathing until he just _has_ to come, his hips snapping up, his eyes squeezed tight enough that he sees stars as he feels himself spilling out into Henry's mouth, sees it in his mind's eye, and cries out with such utter joy that he has no idea what he even says.

He feels, rather than sees, Henry lying back down next to him, and reaches for him, catching Henry's still-swollen cock in his hand, wordlessly stroking as Henry nudges closer and kisses him again.

Their limbs entwined, they stay where they are even after Henry comes, shivering in Saul's arms with nothing more than an _Oh, Saul..._. Normally, Saul might have the inclination to grab his clothes and run home for a shower and a drink, but there's something oddly comforting about going to sleep with sweat and semen and bodies mingled amid tangled sheets.

In the morning, he wakes with Henry's arms still around him, feeling his lover breathe. _Lover_. Kevin would laugh at the term, but...

Saul smiles, kisses Henry's forehead, and drifts back off to sleep.

 

2.

He must have dozed off.

When he opens his eyes, stretches, and turns over, there's sunblock and sand stuck to his back, and he has to shade his eyes from the sun. He can make out Henry standing over by the lifeguard station, his upturned book still resting on the towel between Saul and their backpacks.

It's late afternoon, and they've been here all day - their first vacation together, even if it is only just down the coast from Los Angeles. The guest house they're staying in is a vast, rustic affair owned by two of Henry's friends, and the beach has been quiet enough for them to just bed down and read and relax.

He'd underestimated just how nice it would be to switch off his phone and escape from his laptop and spend real time with his boyfriend, even if much of that time is spent in a companionable silence only broken by the turning of pages. Being a couple in public is still so new, and checking into a room with only a double bed had made him feel as if he were doing something terribly illicit. (Henry had laughed for five minutes when Saul had admitted this to him as they strolled down to the beach.)

Their entire relationship had seemed oddly more real, as Henry filled in the paperwork at the front desk and Saul unpacked what little luggage they had, putting toothbrushes side by side in the bathroom, folding Henry's t-shirts into a drawer, examining his Speedos and wondering just how good he might look in them.

They hadn't made love the first night by the beach, but it had seemed utterly decadent just to crawl into a warm bed with a good book, and have Henry inches away, doing the same thing. Perhaps they don't quite have the rough and tumble Kevin and Scotty might enjoy in their private lives, but the satisfaction Saul gets when Henry puts his book and glasses aside and sinks into his arms with a sigh is more than enough.

Then again, he _does_ look good in the Speedos.

"Hi," he says when Henry, barefoot, makes his way back across the sand. The beach is quiet this morning - only a few brave swimmers and surfers tackling the water, and some other couples lying around, relaxing, sunbathing and reading.

Henry looks a little lost without pockets to shove his hands into. "Hi... The water's nice, if you want to try it."

"Maybe tomorrow," Saul replies, stretching out on his back with a satisfied yawn. "I saw you chatting up the lifeguard, bad boy."

"He _is_ a looker, isn't he?" Henry drops down to the towel with a laugh, dusting the sand from his feet. "Not really my type, though, in more ways than one. He couldn't keep his eyes off the rather amply-filled bikinis further along the beach. How's your book?" He lies back, squinting at the back cover.

Nearer the shore, a couple about Justin's age are busy kissing, giggling, showering each other with sand. Saul shrugs, and sits up, legs crossed. The beach has begun to feel far too hard on his back. "Not as promising as I thought."

Henry wipes sweat out of his eyes. "I told you this guy was a cipher." He tosses the book aside, and rests his hand on Saul's thigh. "We shouldn't be wasting the day reading anyway."

"Reading is _never_ a waste," Saul points out, with all of the prim schoolmaster tone he can muster, trying not to concentrate too much on exactly where Henry's fingers are, or on the fact that they're still a few inches from where he'd really like them to be. "You could teach me to ride your bike.

They'd ridden it down from LA, Saul very grateful for the helmet that lent him not only a sense of safety, but also one of relative anonymity. After his initial terror had given way to confidence in Henry's abilities not to get them killed, he'd held on with a bit less fear and a bit more comfort.

Henry grins, and his fingers move. "Now you're trying to attract all the cute young men."

Well, two can play at that game. Saul leans in a little, and scratches at Henry's belly as if he's a particularly adorable puppy. "I've got a cute young man right here. And he _is_ my type."

"You do have a point," Henry says, and pulls him further in, far enough that Saul overbalances and falls into him, and then they're rolling together, and there's sand and shells against Saul's back, and Henry is laughing and kissing him, and absolutely no one is paying any attention to them at all.

"Maybe we should go back to our room," Saul gasps out, his mouth full of sweat and sand and sea salt from Henry's body. He can see exactly where this is leading, and while it might be nice for it to happen on a beach towel with the waves around them...

Henry nuzzles his throat, a hand squeezing Saul's ass. "I think we should go for that swim... I promise the lifeguard will have other things on his mind."

There are a thousand excuses he could use, a thousand ways the Saul Holden his family knows could just push Henry away and say no. But this is a vacation. This is his first ever vacation with his boyfriend, with a man he wants more than he wants propriety and decorum.

"I'll race you to the water," he says, a devilish smirk on his lips, and takes off in the kind of sprint he hasn't attempted in forty years.

It's worth it, too.

 

3.

Evan wakes up the minute Henry rings the doorbell.

They must have been the last people Nora had asked to babysit. She herself had promised Kitty that she'd take care of the baby, allowing Kitty to get together with her sister for one rare evening and mutually groan about men, but her English paramour Roger had called up with promises of champagne and roses and...

"And Kevin and Robert never leave the office," Saul had told Henry, trying to provide a good reason why they had to skip the theatre and instead spend the evening with a wailing baby. "Scotty always works evenings. Justin's busy studying..."

The explanation had continued in Saul's car on the way there, as he continually mentioned that Henry could simply call a cab and go home, that he didn't _have_ to be there, that Saul wouldn't think any less of him for...

"Saul," Henry had stopped him just as Saul parked the car in the driveway, and leaned over, capturing Saul's mouth with his own in a long, lingering kiss that just about made up for the lack of _Uncle Vanya_. "I'll be happy to do it. Babies and I get along wonderfully."

Sadly, Evan seems to have other ideas as Nora pushes him into Saul's arms and starts to lecture both of them about the location of milk, diapers, and numbers to call if anything even vaguely alarming happens.

"Thank you so much for coming, Henry," Nora says just as the doorbell rings again - Roger, presumably with his roses and champagne. "We really need to have dinner sometime. A _quiet_ dinner."

"Why does she always seem so concerned about _you_?" Saul asks, checking to see if Evan's diaper is wet. "I'm the one she left holding the baby. Literally."

Henry has closed the door, and is taking off his jacket, looking around the sprawling Walker mansion with interest. "You're her big brother, if you hadn't noticed. I'm just an innocent bystander."

"Well, I hope you're an innocent bystander with some ideas about how to make this little man a bit happier."

Henry smirks. "Are you talking about you or the baby?"

"Oh, here, if you get along so _wonderfully_." Saul hands over Evan, taking it upon himself to find one of Evan's more popular toys. "You have nephews, don't you?"

"Mm hmm." Henry and Evan are looking at each other with mutual curiosity. Perhaps the poor boy thinks he's being kidnapped... or perhaps just liberated from the usual Walker madness, given that he's stopped screaming. "I'm the crazy old gay uncle who spoils them rotten."

Saul finds a collection of squeaky toys on the couch. "I know that feeling. You know Kevin bought Elizabeth a giant horse?"

Henry frowns, walking Evan around the living room. "A giant horse?"

"Well, not a _real_ horse. I'm sure it's around here somewhere... Anyway, it's far too big for Evan. Just wait until he's walking, though. And talking? Oh, having Kitty and Robert for parents, he might never stop."

"From what I've seen on CNN, he won't be able to get a word in edgewise." Henry sits down carefully on the couch, as Evan, happier now, grabs for one of the toys Saul is holding out for him. And instantly drops it again.

Saul settles onto the couch next to Henry, and patiently picks up the toy every time Evan drops it. "He likes you."

"Shhh," Henry says with a grin. "Don't say that too loudly, or we'll never get to the theatre anymore."

They've been seeing each other long enough for most of the sensitive topics to be talked over, or at least skirted around, but Saul hesitates a moment before asking the question. "Did you ever think you might want to have children?"

Evan squeals, managing to bounce the toy off Saul's knee and onto the floor.

"I think..." Henry changes the way he's holding Evan, propping him up on his lap. "I think if we were thirty years younger now, it would be a conversation we were having, yes. But even when I was with someone I loved and wanted to be with for the rest of my life, we were too old and it wouldn't have been easy for us at all. Things have changed a lot in the last few years."

"Did you ever feel as though you missed out on something?" Saul asks, letting Evan grip his finger. "Not having a family of your own?"

This could have been them, he imagines - proud fathers of an adopted little boy who would never think that his family wasn't entirely normal. He'd follow Henry everywhere, beg to be taken out on the motorbike, and reluctantly sit down next to Saul to ask for help with his homework.

Henry takes his time answering, perhaps caught up in a similar fantasy. "For me, it was always a choice between having a family and being myself... And it would have made my parents happier if I'd married a girl and had a few kids, but none of it would have lasted."

"Mmm." Saul reaches to stroke the soft hair at the back of Henry's neck. "As someone who lived the lie and still didn't manage to have a family, I have to say you made the right decision."

"You're just saying that because I make you scream in the sack," Henry says with a grin. "Is there any wine in this place, do you think?"

"It's the Walkers', Henry, I'd be shocked if there wasn't..." Saul gets to his feet a little wearily, and sets off towards the kitchen. "And I don't scream. It's more of a... manly yell."

Even limiting themselves to two glasses of wine each, they're asleep on the couch by the time Nora arrives home - Evan sleeping like a log in his crib, and Henry out cold in Saul's arms.

"Didn't think you'd be back tonight," Saul remarks, watching Nora bustle around in the half-darkness. "How's Roger?"

Her sigh tells him all he needs to know. "You two can take Kevin's old room if you like."

He really should protest that they'll get going, that neither of them has drunk _that_ much, or at least accept the offer. But, feeling Henry's breathing soft and steady, the reassuring weight of him in his arms... "You go on to bed, Nora. I don't really want to wake him."

Another sigh, but this one is at least tinged with a smile. "I wish I knew what you did to find him, Saul."

"I told the truth," Saul says quietly, kissing Henry's temple, feeling him stir. "For once in my life, I told the truth."

 

4.

His head hurts from a night of hospital chairs when Scotty wakes him up with coffee.

It's only four in the morning, and the coffee is lukewarm and foul, but he gulps it down eagerly enough between questions: have they spoken to a doctor? Is Henry awake yet? Can they see him?

He'd been woken up past midnight by a phone call from the ER he first assumed, in a panic, must be about one of the kids. But they all have significant others, now, unless it was Justin, fallen off the wagon, too embarrassed to call Rebecca or Nora...

As his head had cleared from sleep and he began to focus on what the nurse - nurse? he had assumed it was a nurse - was telling him, he had realized that it wasn't the kids at all. He had blinked. "Henry? Henry... you're sure? What happened?"

And, goddamn it, he couldn't remember. What had happened? Henry had called him just an hour or two before, saying that work had dragged on late, that he'd just crash in his own apartment for once and see Saul for lunch the next day, that he loved him...

Henry had Saul's name and phone number written down in his wallet as his next of kin.

And, as his eyes had cleared of sleep and filled with tears, Saul had scribbled down directions and ran for his car.

"Kevin's tracking down a doctor now," Scotty tells him in his most reassuring tone, patting Saul's arm in what just might be a move to stop Saul from bolting down the corridor. "I'm sure he'll be fine."

Saul rubs his eyes and straightens his jacket. "He won't be fine, Scotty. If he was fine he wouldn't be here. And if he was _almost_ fine he'd have walked out of here hours ago."

"We just have to wait and see..."

"That _damn_ bike," Saul says for what feels like the fiftieth time that night. "He almost had me convinced that it was safe. That he couldn't be hurt. And then something like this..."

Scotty squeezes his leg just above the knee. "We don't know what happened yet."

"I'm going to kill him," Saul mutters, leaning his head back against the wall and staring up into flickering fluorescent lights. "I'm going to see that he's okay, and then I'm going to kill him."

A moment later, Kevin pushes through the swinging double doors halfway down the corridor, dragging a white-coated doctor with him, who seems rather bemused by the entire affair. "Saul, tell her that you're Henry's partner."

Saul is already on his feet. "How is he?"

The doctor manages to liberate herself from Kevin's grip, and makes a point of dusting herself down before replying. "You're Mr. Holden? You can see him in a minute. We were a little worried for a while, but he's awake, and he's asking for you."

Scotty is beaming just as Saul sighs with relief. "He's hurt?"

"Nothing too serious. Cuts and bruises. He has quite a bad concussion, so we'd like to keep him in for..."

"Which room?" Saul interrupts.

"Five oh-seven, but..."

Saul doesn't hear her objections - he's already charged through the double doors, looking for the correct room, still not quite made up his mind whether he wants to lecture Henry about never _ever_ doing this again, or just take him in his arms and never, _ever_ letting go.

Henry's sitting up in bed when Saul finds him, fingering a ripped-up leather jacket. He looks so _thin_ , so fragile in his not-entirely-fetching hospital gown, hair sticking up at all angles.

"Henry?"

He glances around, and Saul sees the bruises, a vivid blue-black along his cheekbone, closing his eye, bashing into his temple. But there's that vibrant, white smile, and a hand reached out to him as if nothing's wrong in the world. "Hey, Saul. They really messed up my jacket, didn't they?"

Saul wants to punch him and hug him at once, and settles for being drawn into Henry's arms with a whimper that might just be relief. "Shh," Henry keeps saying, squeezing him tight as Saul closes his eyes and hears his heartbeat. "I'm all right. Did I miss dinner?"

"It's four in the morning," Saul tells him, drawing back a little just so he can look into Henry's eyes. "You had to work late. We said we'd do lunch."

"Oh." The one eye that's open seems to be smiling. "Then I'm early."

Once Saul remembers that Kevin and Scotty are still waiting, anxiously, outside, he tells them that Henry's fine and sends them home with orders not to tell Nora anything. The nurses on the ward are reluctant to let him stay, but as it seems to be a choice between either letting him stay or letting Henry go, they relent - as long as he stays in the chair by the bed and there's no "funny business".

"I don't remember," Henry says, his thumb brushing over the knuckles of Saul's hand as he lies in bed thinking. "The entire evening's a blank. But they said my helmet was destroyed, and you saw my jacket... I guess I'll have to talk to the cops about my bike tomorrow. Hope it's not too badly damaged. Do you know which one I was riding yesterday?"

Saul shrugs. "I have no idea." His grip on Henry's hand tightens. "You really want to keep riding that thing? You're going to give me a heart attack."

Henry's grin is as reassuring as any doctor's report. "We both know I'm more likely to give you a heart attack in another way, Saulie. Plenty of my friends have been in car accidents. One woman I work with was hit by a car just crossing the street."

"Yes, but..."

Henry tugs on his hand. "Come over here. I'm cold, and they're not going to check on us until morning."

Despite the fact that it's already past five, Saul does as he's told and clambers onto the bed, taking Henry into his arms, his fingers lightly tracing over bruised skin and the few band-aids and bandages on his torso.

They're woken up, true to form, by a combination of a nurse wanting to take Henry's blood pressure, and Nora, via Saul's cellphone, demanding to know which room they're in so that she can bring them chicken soup.

Saul grabs Henry's jacket, and wonders just how quickly they can escape.

 

5.

The flight from LA to Baltimore seems to be marked mostly by five hours of inescapable cable TV playing out on the headrest in front of him, and by the passengers on either side who seem incapable of just letting him sleep.

"I'm visiting my boyfriend," he'd told the young mother on his right, who had just about given up on monitoring her children, who were sitting with their (sound asleep) father two rows away. "Hopefully it'll be a vacation."

There had been that usual moment of silence, in which she'd scoured his face to see if he was joking, and then the rest of him to see if there were some obvious sign of homosexuality she'd somehow missed. "Oh," she'd said, finally, and smiled, and launched into a discussion of her young daughter's ballet class.

He and Henry have been apart for two weeks, fleeting phone and email contact aside, and Saul's never missed someone so much in his life. Even though they're not officially living together, he has Henry's body next to him, warm and wonderful, almost every night. His bed's been cold, lately, and he's had few people to talk to about anything but family and work. Henry lets him just... _breathe_.

Getting through security seems to take an age, and then he's just about convinced that his bag has gone on to Murmansk when it finally shows up. Henry's still there, though, waiting, his battered and much-repaired leather jacket discarded for once in favor of jeans and a blue shirt, its cuffs rolled up above his elbows.

Saul's struck with sudden concern, walking towards him, about the proper etiquette for greeting one's male lover in an airport. Hugs? Kisses? A manly handshake? Brief, almost imperceptible nods conveying more than words can say?

He smiles, and is about to put this concern into words when Henry just throws his arms around him, kissing his cheek, whispering "I love you" in his ear, and Saul realizes that he couldn't give a damn what anyone else thought, anyway.

"How's your father?"

Henry chuckles. He's driving a rented car he's been using for his meetings on the west coast, and it's more than a little strange to see him behind the wheel. "The same as ever. Telling me off for spoiling my nephews in New York. He's eager to meet you."

"I doubt that. His son's retired boyfriend? I don't think we'll have much in common."

Henry pats his knee. "You both adore me, for a start."

Saul settles back into his seat, more interested in seeing Henry's bed than any of his family. "He's really all right with..."

"With my liking cock?"

"Mm." Saul nudges him. "But you've brought boyfriends home before?"

They pull into the driveway of a perfect suburban house with a perfectly maintained lawn, and a perfectly white picket fence. Either Henry pays someone to look after the place during the year, or he's been busy over the past few days.

"After the first Thanksgiving chaos, it was pretty much all right," Henry tells him, shutting off the engine and going to get Saul's bags from the trunk. "That poor boy, though. It was a miracle he ever spoke to me again."

"Your Mom was hoping you'd bring home a nice girl?"

Henry grins, and reaches out his hand to take Saul's, bags slug over his shoulder. "A little bit, I guess. But my brother got married and had adorable children, so that set me free... My Mom would have loved you, you know. She'd be sending us emails now, asking when we're getting married."

"That sounds a little like my sister," Saul remarks, and glances over at the doorway. "You're not going to try and carry me over the threshold, are you?"

They have a date later that evening with Henry's father, liberating him from his assisted living facility and taking him out to dinner which, Henry assures Saul, will largely be concerned with the state of Henry's bike, and just how much alcohol the three of them can consume.

Saul wanders the living room, looking at framed family photos, trying to pick out a younger Henry, sans beard, from group shots. There's one of him, in the same old leather jacket he wears now, cigarette behind his ear, staring at the camera with what should be teenage sulkiness, and is instead bright-eyed optimism.

"We need a photograph of us together," Henry says, draping himself over Saul's shoulders. "Add it to the mantel."

"You should wait and see if I survive the night."

Henry nuzzles his neck. "I have faith in you."

Saul turns his head, and kisses his boyfriend for the first time in weeks. Eyes closed, he knows it's not the sex he had missed so much, nor the conversation, but the feeling of having someone so comfortably close that their very _smell_ was something he grew to love.

"Why don't you show me your bedroom?" he asks, feeling a little like a lecherous old man taking advantage of the teenager Henry had been when he'd last lived here. Had he even been Henry, then? Harry? Hank?

There are framed photographs on the wall of his father's motorcycle races from half a century ago, vinyl records lined up in a case by one wall, sheets more-or-less freshly laundered. Henry's been sleeping here for the past few nights, after all, his bag on the floor, a plastic bag full of laundry nestled in a corner.

Saul takes a look out of the window, down at the rented car, across the street at children playing hockey on wobbly rollerblades, at row upon row of similar, quiet houses. "Have you ever been fucked here?" he asks, his voice so perfectly level that he hardly believes he's asked the question himself.

He turns just in time to see Henry's mouth open, to see him swallow.

They should have done this as teenagers, Saul knows, naked skin pressed to naked skin in a single bed meant for small boys hugging teddy bears. Henry should have been the wannabe-James Dean bringing home his older, college boyfriend, kissing him with the curtains closed, losing his virginity between clean sheets and praying that his mother didn't walk in.

They're old, now. God, they're old. Nora is starting to talk about how they should celebrate his seventieth birthday, and Henry's hair is getting grayer. They have too many wrinkles and scars. But, oh, how he _loves_ Henry's body, every familiar inch of it, the feel of hair and muscle and bone against his fingers, nipples hardening and lips parting under the affections of his mouth.

Just seeing Henry lying there in the sunlight, laid out naked for him, legs parted, a hand lazily stroking his erection... A year ago, Saul could never have imagined this, could _perhaps_ have guessed at a long series of awkward dates with other men, and maybe an extremely awkward kiss or two, but being in love, and being in love with someone so beautiful, someone who just might think he's beautiful too...

"You know," Saul says, kicking the duvet onto the floor as he caresses Henry's body, "I told Nora I'd call... And your Dad'll be waiting for us later..."

Henry's tongue flicks into his mouth. "Let them wait," he says, and pulls Saul into him.


End file.
